Porcelain
by blaineboughtcheesecake
Summary: When the unthinkable happens, Blaine realizes that he isn't as great at coping as he'd thought.


Kurt had eyes that were sharp and jaded, and sometimes, Blaine could see every little color inside them. Kurt had hands that were pale and warm at the same time. And Kurt had a heart that was thin as glass, and could be punctured like a blimp, losing all its air and spiraling to the pit of his stomach.

When you love someone, you learn to coexist with them. You learn to weave into the spots in their life, the spots they need you most. And, in return, they weave in your spots. But whenever both of you are in a spot, who is there to weave? Can two people handle a spot at the same time?

Have you ever had a moment that makes you look at life as before and after? Life before Blaine got beat up at the Sadie Hawkins dance and life after Blaine got beat up were two very different scenarios in his mind. Life before Blaine saw Kurt on the staircase and life after Blaine saw Kurt on the staircase were much different too, for obvious reasons.

Right now, Blaine realized that this was that moment- the moment where everything shifts from before to after.

The doctor was looking up at them like she was sorry. But she wasn't.

They all thought they were sorry. But they weren't, not really. Because they could keep going. It wasn't theirs. This was a tragedy in their eyes, yes, but they could go on. It was sad and terrible, but she hadn't been _theirs. _

Right now, Kurt's eyes were blue and gray. His hands were scorching. And Blaine could hear Kurt's heart crash against each and every rib, loud and clear like the endless silence that stretched on in the room.

"It was a chromosomal problem with the baby, if you look at the lab work here-"

"Kurt, Blaine, I'm so sorry, I-,"

"Bud... I don't know what to say. This must be-"

It didn't matter. They didn't matter. She had mattered. She had meant everything, taking her little fist and somehow wrapping around his heart, her finger prints forever etched onto the membrane. Her small, hardly lifelike thought was engraved into his mind.

Blaine hardly registered Kurt's hand slipping from his, or maybe it was his hand that had let go. Blaine didn't realize how stiff he was as he sat down on that hospital chair. He didn't notice what color Kurt's eyes were. Maybe that's where it all began, not noticing, not realizing, never acknowledging anything but _her. _

"Do you need anything? Burt. Maybe we should-"

Do you know that feeling when you're walking down the steps in the dark, and you were positive that last step was there? You know because you counted sixteen steps when you were half the height you are now. You know because this house was built sturdy and reliable and you've lived there for years. You know because that last step, or at least you thought, that last step was there. It just was. Well, you step down, expecting your foot to hit that damn step, and you end up stumbling through darkness. Darkness you thought wouldn't hold onto you and keep you because you _knew_that step was there. Well, she was his last step. And now Blaine could hardly see through the darkness, maddening him to no end.

"I'm so sorry! I was eating right and-"

"We should go home, I-"

Rachel was on that hospital bed. Blaine only knew because _she_was on that bed. She was there. And she wasn't breathing and god, why did this happen to them?

At some point, they ended up in the car. Blaine wasn't too sure how Kurt was driving. All Blaine could see was baby blankets in the sky. He saw ultrasounds in the trees and pacifiers in the birds. The street signs were her first day of school and the stoplights were her favorite food. The house was the day they'd bring her home. The porch was the three of them sipping out of cups and lazily watching fireflies. The living room was watching her favorite movie. The steps were pictures that, now, would never be hung. Their bedroom was hushed moments of intimacy after making sure she was asleep. The sheets were all the times she would climb in with them after a nightmare.

When Blaine closed his eyes, all he could see were the words 'miscarriage' and 'never'. Kurt's arms wrapped around him, and Blaine didn't think either of them was weaving.

Blaine didn't sleep, but he wasn't awake either. It was like when you slip into such a deep thought that you don't realize that your husband is crying and you might be as well. Blaine didn't realize how Kurt was gripping onto the back of shirt, begging him to hold him and make him feel something. Blaine didn't notice when Kurt's tears turned into sobs and the sobs turned back into tears.

The early hours before daybreak were hazy and gray, but Blaine didn't feel any different.

The next morning, Blaine woke up to an empty bed. The sheets smelled like Kurt, even though he wasn't there.

Blaine could hear people downstairs. He was almost positive it was Carole, instinctively baking when she knew her son was hurt. Kurt had probably woken up early because that was what Kurt did, and then he would've fixed a cup of coffee before changing and fixing his hair. Carole must've knocked while Kurt was mid-hairspray spritz. He would've walked down stairs and opened the door, letting Carole pull him into a giant mother bear hug.

Blaine pulled himself out of bed, rather reluctantly, and walked down the steps.

He wordlessly passed Kurt and Carole in the living room, pretending not to hear when Kurt said good morning.

He made himself a cup of coffee, making it as bitter as he could.

He thought about the moment right before the doctor told them. How everything seemed okay, but then it wasn't.

"Hey, Blaine, how are you-" Kurt managed to smile as he followed Blaine into the kitchen, Carole in tow.

He sort of smiled back.

* * *

Blaine was driving with the windows down. The wind was sharp and cold. It stung his cheeks and unraveled his gelled curls, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

The music didn't really sound good anymore, but silence wasn't quiet anymore.

He listened to nothing in particular. The road flowed endlessly like the ocean or a staircase. Like a lifetime. Like a hospital hallway.

If the sun were collapse and burn out, the earth would still be warm for eight minutes. (Blaine had heard this in a movie once** (1)**.) Eight whole minutes before dying as suddenly as the sun that used to keep them alive. Blaine knew his eight minutes were ticking away, faster than he could hold on to them.

Work wasn't really fun anymore.

Blaine pulled into the parking lot, ignoring the mess in the car. He wondered how messy it'd be if-

"Hey, Mr. Anderson! How's it-,"

Blaine gave the kid, nameless and faceless- hopefully he'd remain that way, a curt nod. It was the same nod he'd been giving everyone these days, even Kurt, who was certainly not nameless or faceless. But somehow, Blaine's throat still constricted and his voice cowered somewhere far away from his lips.

Somewhere, someone was painting a room.

Somewhere, someone was making a list.

Somewhere, someone was winning at poker.

Somewhere, someone was pretending they were in a space ship.

Somewhere, someone was hugging their father for the first time.

Somewhere, someone was hugging their father for the last time.

Somewhere, someone was collecting sand dollars as the beach.

Somewhere, someone was removing someone else's clothing.

Somewhere, there was a baby with a beating heart.

But here, there was the thunder of hundreds of beating hearts. All the students and teachers and students and teachers and students and teachers. The pounding and roar of life all around him made Blaine constantly wonder; did the parents hear their child's heart beat as clearly as he did?

Blaine's room was small. He'd just sort of taken it. His desk was short and a little crooked, but it stored the papers nicely, like a desk should. He realized a few days ago that, however, it was just a desk. Just like was just a man or Kurt was just a husband. Like work was just work or music was just music. Everything was "just".

The lesson was poetry.

He had contemplated the works of Edgar Allan Poe or Sylvia Plath, but teaching according to his own emotional state wasn't exactly curriculum. In all honesty, he wasn't really feeling E.E. Cummings.

* * *

When the work day was over, Blaine somehow managed to find a bottle of Tylenol in the car. He took four pills, even though he really should have only taken three. The headache buzzing in his ears was too much to bear.

There was _too_ much life around him. The birds were too loud. The sun was too bright. Each and every house he passed had some type of swing set or play hut outside. Every playground was buzzing with laughter and happiness. The supermarket always had pictures of Missing Children and Angel Trees and Food Donations. His child was a milk carton kid, but no one except the malicious hand of fate had stolen her.

Blaine pulled into the driveway, the neighbor's kids becoming increasingly loud, even though they weren't outside.

He walked up the steps, hardly feeling the sharp air slap his cheek yet again.

Kurt smiled at him when Blaine walked into the house. There was dinner on the table, Blaine remembering that the mean used to be his favorite. Before the incident, Blaine would've happily taken any opportunity to spend a lovely evening with Kurt and perfectly prepared food. After the incident, Blaine sat down and shoveled the food into his mouth as he pretended to go along with Kurt's fantasy world where everything was okay. Again, food was just food.

That night, he stood in front of the mirror. He stood so close he could see each fine detail. His reflection stared back at him with bloodshot eyes. They weren't the same eyes Blaine had three weeks ago. He looked like hell, fiery and raging hot. The silence in Blaine's ears was suffocating. It encased his brain like cellophane wrap. He watched as his breath ghosted in the mirror, creating patches of gray specks.

He was tired of thinking about her. She was always in his mind, even if he wasn't meaning to actually think about her.

* * *

Is it possible to miss something you've never had? Nothing felt right. The sun smelled too loud. The air felt too sour. His senses were colliding and making his room smaller and the bed bigger. He was suddenly on the North Pole while Kurt screamed for him in the South Pole. Blaine could hardly stand it.

He kicked the blankets off because they were too hot. He hunched over because the room was too cold. He closed his eyes because it was too dark. He opened them because the words in his mind were too bright.

"Blaine, are you-"

"Blaine, god, you're-"

"Please listen to-"

Blaine knew there was stamp somewhere on his heart. When she died, she left her footprint. And the footprint turned into a nasty smudge, and then a hole, and now it was a crater. And it became the vacuum. It went music and life and everything he loved. All the things now tasted bleak and wrong.

If Blaine could make everything go backwards, he would. He'd turn the car's wheels the opposite way. The excitement in his and Kurt's hearts would deflate until they didn't want a baby at all. His tears would make trails up his face and soak into his eyes. The clock would move counter-clockwise. The doctor would put away the files and take of her glasses. The baby would die and then live. The sheets on the bed would become perfectly pressed and ironed instead of wrinkling like Kurt's fingers when he soaked in the bathtub. The sun would brighten during the night and darken in the morning. Blaine would put Kurt's clothes on, adding items and items and items until Kurt could hardly move. The earth would shift position, so it was spinning opposite. Numbers would go from one to ten, but ten to one. Music would play like it was on rewind. Life would go a different direction, Blaine waking out of the hospital and far away from Rachel. Kurt would remove his arm from Blaine's waist and roll over the face the opposite side. Kurt would unweave himself from Blaine's spot. His heart wouldn't suck and pump, but pump and suck. That same heart, Blaine's heart, would beat backwards. The massive gap in Blaine's heart, the dip in the earth caused by a huge meteor named _her_, would fill until completely healed. The meteor would fly up into the sky; so far Blaine would hardly remember the daughter he almost had.

But life moved forward, too fast and too soon. Life was where eight hours seemed like only two. Where years and years dwindled down to only a few.

The gigantic cavity in Blaine's heart was going spew over the top with music and life and love. And Kurt. He knew Kurt was barely hanging on to the rim of that huge spot, his fingers gripping the edge until they turned as white as the bubbles in champagne glasses that littered in his memory. He couldn't weave anymore. Not when his hands were busy keeping the hole from eating Blaine and everyone else who dared cross it.

He needed... God, he _needed._

Finally, it felt like he'd lifted his head from underwater. Everyone's words that had been interrupted and blurred and unspoken were now clear in his mind. They were crystal and glass and porcelain like the heart in Kurt's chest.

"You're distant. You're not paying attention. Where are you? I need you, Blaine. I know what happened was awful, and I'm trying. I really am. Please... just... be there for me. Help me. I miss her, too. I wanted this just as badly as you did." Kurt was crying. He was holding Blaine's shoulders, giving him no option but to look into the face that had once sent his mind in a fuzzy slow-motion haze. "I go into her room every night, Blaine. I sit there and think about her. I go to work and I think about her. I come home and I think about her."

Blaine realized this was the first complete thought he'd listened to.

Kurt was still talking, his mind and his mouth too far ahead of him, "And she's everywhere... I know you feel it too." Kurt was crying, and Blaine realized that Kurt had probably been crying alot. He realized they both had been crying and needed, but never really fullfilling.

"You- you do?" Blaine whispered, his voice tired of saying so much but not really saying anything at all.

Kurt nodded, his eyes looking like Blaine's had in the mirror just hours ago. And just like that, Blaine saw each color in those eyes. They were green, gray, and blue all at once. His hands were warm as they reached for Blaine, pulling him into a hug that _was_ reciprocated. And he could hear Kurt's heart mend as if floated a little higher. Neither of them were completely there yet, but right now, almost was good enough.

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it. A shout-out to my betas Gleekaramous and Klaine is My Life. The pretty much keep my stories from being ABSOLUTELY awful. I feel bad because this is so short and all... but I just needed to get this out. **

**The movie I am referring to is "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close". The book is much better, but I think the eight minutes thing was added into the movie. But anyway, READ THAT BOOK. **


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